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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"

"
I spoke, for his ear alone, and waited for no reply. I understood his
game by this time, as he did mine.
"His son, indeed!" I murmured, with a scornful lip, as I found myself
alone. "I would cut off my right hand before I would give it to a
Bainrothe," and I scoffed at him bitterly in the depths of my resentful
Judaic heart.
About this time I passed through a painful trial. It was autumn, and
early fires of wood had been kindled in the chambers; more, so far, for
the sake of cheerfulness than warmth. Mabel was playing on the hearth of
her nursery preparatory to going to bed, and I was in the adjoining
room, my own chamber, making an evening toilet, for Evelyn expected a
party of young visitors that night, and my presence had been requested.
Mrs. Austin, it seemed, had left the room for one moment, when a cry
from Mabel brought me to her side. She had fanned the fire with her
little cambric night-dress, and was already in a blaze. I caught Mrs.
Austin's heavy shawl from the bed, and promptly extinguished the flames,
but not without receiving serious injury myself. The child, with the
exception of a slight but painful burn on her ankle, was unhurt, but my
left arm and shoulder and bosom were fearfully burned, and for some days
my life hung on a thread.
Months passed before I was able to leave my own chamber, and the blow to
my health was so severe as to induce a return of those lethargic attacks
from which I had been entirely free for the last two years.


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